Adding Up to You Read online

  With his current salary several times over what he needed, he was able to do pretty much whatever he wanted. Since he wasn’t a frivolous man or one who needed luxuries, this mostly involved extreme sports or spoiling his family when they let him—buying his parents a house, sending them on vacations they’d never dreamed they’d be able to take, getting his brother through college—

  A blur of creamy skin, blond hair and an unforgettable fuchsia skirt passed his opened office door. He glanced at his watch. Ten o’clock.

  What the hell?

  Standing, he rounded his desk to peek out, but yep, it was indeed Kenna Mallory’s very fine backside wriggling its way down the hallway, her bare feet in those strappy little sandals that seemed suicidal to him.

  “So you’re not just a nightmare,” he called out, half hoping she’d vanish.

  Slowly she stopped, then pivoted to face him, her arms full of a variety of bags, all of which were overflowing with what looked like…stuff. Even as he watched, the blow dryer she’d slung over her shoulder started to slip. “It’s not late enough for nightmares.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Maybe you missed the Mallory part of the San Diego Mallory.”

  “I meant,” he said dryly, “what are you doing in the offices this late?”

  “I wanted to grab some nighttime reading material before checking in—” She broke off to growl in frustration as things started tumbling from her arms.

  Wes scooped up the bag, but not in time to keep it from spilling out a magazine, a lipstick case, a styling comb, a compact mirror, a tube of mascara and two tampons.

  Hunkering down to help, he deliberately avoided touching the tampons and scooped up the magazine instead. Outside. This city girl read an adventure magazine? “I wouldn’t have pegged you for an Outside kind of girl.”

  “You couldn’t peg me for anything—” she snatched it back “—as you don’t know the first thing about me. And there happens to be a great article this month on relaxing beach vacations,” she relented. “If that matters to you.”

  Unfortunately just about everything relating to her was going to matter to him, since they were likely going to be joined at the hip for a while, until some other more appealing job came along and she fluttered off.

  On her knees, she started gathering things, tossing them back into the bag. “And anyway, at least until we establish some sort of routine…one that’ll keep us from killing each other—” she pointed at him with the article in her hand, a tampon “—just get used to seeing me around.” She stopped and stared at the tampon, then glared at him as if it was his fault she was using it like a pointer.

  “What makes you think we’re going to kill each other?” he asked curiously.

  She laughed. “Are you saying you’re welcoming me with open arms?”

  “I plan on welcoming you as I would any employee.”

  “Well, isn’t that a politically correct answer.”

  “Look, Ms. Mallory—”

  “Kenna. My name is Kenna.”

  “Kenna.” He picked up some of her loose change and handed it to her. “I think we can do this in a friendly manner.”

  “What? Vie for the next rung on the ladder?”

  Okay, he probably deserved that. Maybe he’d been a bit stiff earlier. “I’m just saying we’re stuck in this position together, and—”

  “I’m not stuck. I’m never stuck. I do as I please, when I please, and working here pleases me.”

  “For the moment.”

  She froze in the act of stretching for a rogue pen, her skirt rising incredibly high on a tanned, toned thigh, reminding him that she didn’t favor stockings. And being the weak male that he was, he wondered if her panties were as bright as the rest of her clothes. Like he needed to know that information.

  “Look,” she said. “I’m taking this job seriously. So do me a favor and take me seriously. Oh, and by the way, I’m…moving in.”

  When the words sank in, he raised his gaze to meet her unhappy one. “What?”

  “I’m going to be staying here. At the hotel.”

  Wes didn’t often find himself rendered speechless, but somehow he wasn’t surprised to find Kenna the woman to do it. “Why?”

  “Because that also pleases me.” She paused then muttered under her breath, “and it’s the lesser of two evils.”

  “Your father said you had to, right?”

  “Of course not.”

  “What did he do, threaten to cut off your credit card?”

  If he’d been any closer, her look would have fried him on the spot. “I don’t care about his money.”

  “What do you care about?” he asked.

  “Not his money,” she repeated. “I earn my own. As for what I do care about…I care about my life. Living it how I want to, which until now has been very different than this structured, cutthroat business atmosphere. How about you, Mr. Roth?”

  “Wes.”

  “Wes,” she said with an acknowledging bow of her head. “What is it you care about?”

  “This structured, cutthroat business, for one.”

  She actually laughed and reached for the last item on the floor, a lipstick, and put it back into the bag. “Well, that’s going to make us quite the interesting pair.”

  “Yes. Yes, it is.” His gaze met hers, and…held. Humor still swam in her eyes, humor and intelligence and an easy love of life.

  Damn if that wasn’t suddenly, startlingly, abruptly attractive. He stood. Backed way up, giving her room.

  Giving himself room.

  “I can do this job,” she said softly. “I’m good at fiscal planning. Marketing strategies. Structuring business goals. Budgeting, including the remaining renovations, growth…all of it. The one thing I’m not good at is dealing with people who make assumptions about the outer package…” She tossed her blond hair and straightened her stripper’s body. “Don’t mistake the outer package, Wes.”

  “How about I won’t if you won’t?”

  “What?”

  He pushed up his glasses. “Are you going to deny you took one look at me and lumped me in with every other suit in the building, which, apparently, leaves a bad taste in your mouth?”

  “Not a bad taste necessarily.”

  “Then a bad attitude.”

  She laughed again, and it was an amazing laugh, a contagious one. “Okay, you got me. I lumped you in with all the dark conservative suits. Just tell me this…what’s wrong with color, Wes? Why don’t any of you wear any color for God’s sake?”

  He looked down at his black basketball shorts, black basketball shoes and black T-shirt.

  She laughed again. “You never even noticed that’s the only color around here, did you?”

  “No,” he said truthfully, and had to shake his head. “I swear I own a few things that aren’t black.”

  “Yeah? Prove it. Shock me tomorrow. And tightie whities don’t count.”

  He blinked.

  “Underwear,” she explained. “Plain white Jockey shorts don’t count as color.”

  “I don’t wear plain white Jockey shorts.”

  He wore plain white knit boxers, because a guy had to have room.

  “Whatever you say.”

  She was most definitely baiting him, but he absolutely was not going to get into a discussion about underwear. Not at ten o’clock at night, on an empty floor, with no one around save this laughing, sharp-tongued and shockingly attractive woman staring at him.

  No way.

  She stood up. “So…how about this? I overlook the fact that you look like a Mallory clone, and you overlook the fact that I might appear better suited for wet T-shirt contests than board-room discussions.”

  He thought about that. First the wet T-shirt—he couldn’t help that—then her proposal.

  She waited for a moment, then said, “Come on. I think that’s an excellent second compromise, if I do say so myself.”

  He felt his mouth curve in a smile, hi